


If These Wounds Run Too Deep

by MidnightRavenFromTheClock



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Angst, But It's canon, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Issues, Family Reunions, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mama Coco dies, Trust Issues, the song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-17 07:03:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17555639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightRavenFromTheClock/pseuds/MidnightRavenFromTheClock
Summary: Once upon a time she waited too long, hoped too fiercely... spent too many nights singing a song that never belonged to her.Coco is reunited with her father.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sooo, I'm apparently really, really bad at updating. Honestly, most of the time I just have no motivation to write. To anyone waiting on any of my other stories, I'm really sorry, I'll try to work on them again soon. Right now I just needed to post something and I've had this story as a draft for months now, so I reworked it a bit and here we are. The second half is written but not edited yet, so hopefully I'll get around to that soon.

When Coco was a little girl, her mamá and papá would sing the most beautiful songs. But that was before hard lines inked her mamá's face and music twisted into a curse. Before Coco learned how sometimes people left, and never came back.

Coco didn't remember much of that initial transition, but if she reached really, really hard, she could recall a childish belief that sooner or later her papá would walk through the door. She couldn't possibly have understood why mamá took up making shoes, or why papá's things were shoved in a box and left with the day's trash.

“It’s for the best mija. One day you’ll understand.”

She’d been inconsolable. “I do understand, you don’t want him to come back!”

“Coco-”

“It’s all your fault!”

Before long that turned into anger. Anger at mama, her tios, at those stupid, stupid shoes. Even at herself. And Dios he was taking too long, she was gonna give him a hard time when he returned, just for a little while.

She still believed, even when months turned into years. Coco was stubborn like that. Each night she would sing their song, because somewhere papá was singing too. Even mamá didn't have the heart to tell her to stop.

One night, Coco did stop. She couldn’t tell you when exactly it happened, or what triggered the change. She settled down to sleep, waiting for the tell-tale sounds of mamá going to bed herself and-

And the words got stuck in her throat. She blinked, caught her breath. “Rem- remember- re-” She pressed the back of her palm against her lips, stifling a sob. Her body started to tremble, and Coco grew afraid, because she thought mama might hear those terrible sounds bubbling from her chest.

Coco never tried singing their song again. How foolish to think she’d had a claim on the lullaby in the first place. But she didn’t learn that until years later, when she entered school. Mama’s ban on music could only reach so far.

It was then, when she learned more that Coco began to secretly wonder, if perhaps she'd been too difficult, or not musically gifted enough. Mamá liked to hint _he_ hadn't wanted to put down roots, but that was a nice way of saying _he_ hadn't wanted a child, was it not? As she became a teenager, Coco fixed this toxic way of thinking. She'd been a child, after all. No, she wasn't to blame, which meant it was all on _him_. Like that, Coco grew to resent her father. If she wasn't good enough for him, then he could damn well not be good enough for _her_.

Over the years the resentment only grew, fueled by her own maternal instincts as she held her daughter for the first time. She tried to imagine a world where she might willingly let Elena go, and the thought was so terrible she vowed to burn every single letter as soon as she was released home.

She didn’t.

There were years, many years where Coco didn’t think about him. She wasn’t damaged, and she was old enough to know how to leave the past in the past. She had everything she needed, right where she was.

But that was before, now so many of her loved ones were gone, and her mind had turned hazy. She often looked at people and didn’t know who they were. She knew her papa though, and all wounds paled to the overwhelming need to see him one more time.

 _Sooner or later, papá would come home_. And oh, there'd been a song once. If Coco tried, could she still remember the words? Or would they be as out of reach as everything else these days? _Remember_ -

No, no, she couldn't. Coco had forgotten a lot in her old age, but she still remembered it hadn't been her song after all.

* * *

Music. What an unfamiliar sound. Soft chords, lyrics that nudged something in Coco's mind and made her heart skip beats. This was the lullaby she knew, the one that was meant only for her…

Gentle, calloused hands-

tucking her to bed-

_I love you, mija._

_More than the sky?_

_Of course, mija._

_And Christmas?_

_More than Christmas, Coco._

A pause. _More than your guitar?_

A kiss on her forehead. _More than anything._

Papá. Her papá. For the first time since she was a child, Coco sang.

"He loved you mama Coco, he loved you so much." Her Miguel said, tears glistering in his eyes.

And Coco smiled. For once it was enough.

* * *

Coco opened her eyes to a hospital-like room, with rows of plain white beds. She sat up with an ease she hadn't felt in years, her mind perfectly clear. Coco knew then, she was dead.

One of the figures scuffling around hurried up to her, then everything flew by in a haze of confusion mixed with excitement. There were a lot of… people? Skeletons, trying to explain this strange world. Coco tried to listen, but it was overwhelming and more than anything, she couldn’t stop thinking about Elena and Miguel and all the others she had left behind.

"Mrs. Rivera? Mrs. Rivera, your family is here." This finally caught Coco's attention.

"My… family?" She echoed slowly. But she was- was dead, and her family was alive.

The young looking skeleton smiled patiently. "Your deceased family is here to take you home." She explained.

Coco gaped, did that mean what she thought it meant? Her ija Victoria, her love Julio… mamá? She could see them all again?

She must have said it out loud, because the woman nodded with a small 'yes' and stood up. "Would you like to see them now? It's okay if you'd like more time to process. This is a lot to take in."

Coco hesitated. She was ecstatic at the idea of seeing her loved ones again, but what if it wasn't real? Coco knew a thing or two about disappointment, she wasn't sure she could handle any more.

"I could make you some tea?" The woman offered.

Coco swallowed down her fear. She was still stubborn, after all. "I want to see them now."

"Of course." The woman waited for Coco to slowly stand up and then lead her to the 'Reunions' room. She opened the door for Coco. "I'll be right here if you need me."

"Thank you." Coco smiled kindly and stepped through the door.

Coco was surprised by the various skeletons, some crying in each other's arms, others talking quietly. The appearance would certainly take some getting used to. Her eyes quickly strayed to a group in the corner.

"Oh." A familiar voice called. "Mi amor!" Suddenly she was engulfed by strong bony arms.

"Julio." Coco melted into the hug. She could have recognized her husband anywhere. Dios, it really was them. It was all true. "Julio, oh Julio." She repeated. She looked up to more familiar faces staring at her with glee. "Victoria!" She cried, reaching for her ijas hand.

Julio released his hold to allow Victoria to fall into Coco's arms. And then by the time Coco’s mamá was wrapping Coco up in her arms, she was laughing with happiness. She hugged each family member with joy dancing in her chest.

But then mamá cleared her throat and took Coco's hand, and her family parted, pushing another figure to the front.

"There's someone who's waited a really long time to see you, mija." Mamá began gently.

Coco looked up at the new figure and paused. It was a man, a skeleton like the others, yet his bones were yellowed and fractured in a way she hadn't seen in the others. The sight might have brought out her deep-rooted maternal instincts, had she not been so overwhelmed by the day's events.

The man was staring at Coco with both awe and what could only have been desperation. Upon closer inspection, Coco could make out the tiniest trembles in his clenched fists.

The man didn't move.

So, neither did Coco. The moment felt terribly fragile, yet important. A fact reinforced by her families’ sudden silence. Coco opened her mouth, 'who are you?' on the tip of her tongue.

_Elena's devastated expression. ‘I'm here, mama.’_

The memory startled Coco enough to swallow the question. The thought of seeing that look on this skeleton’s face seemed unbearable.

The man took a hesitant step closer, her name falling with his breath.

And Coco realized she already knew. "Papa?" One word, muscle memory acting before she could understand.

The man visibly sagged, reached out his hands. "Mija," He said like a prayer. "Oh, mija."

Belatedly, Coco realized the man was going to hug her. She wanted him to, so, so badly.

 _He loved you, mam_ á _Coco._

_More than your guitar?_

Coco flinched away from the reaching arms and watched the man's face crumple after all. "It's me, Coco. I- I'm so, so sorry."

How many times had she longed to hear those words? Today, they filled her with nausea. Coco looked at her mamá hopefully. If Imelda told her father he was a lifetime too late, Coco wouldn't have to.

But mamá's brows were furrowed with concern instead of anger. "A lot's changed, mija. There are things we didn't know."

Well, she’d always known _that_ , but Coco didn't want to hear it now. Once upon a time she waited too long, hoped too fiercely... spent too many nights singing a song that never belonged to her.

As if reading her daughter’s mind, Imelda's eyes hardened with determination. She rubbed Coco's hand soothingly, before looking up at Héctor. "She's overwhelmed, it's best we leave this for another day."

Héctor looked wrecked, but he clenched his jaw and nodded.

"Why don't Coco and I take the train, and you all can fly with Pepita? We'll meet you at home." Imelda suggested, casting Héctor an apologetic glance.

Julio grabbed Héctor's hand. "Sí, sí we can get a head start on dinner."

Even as the others nudged him out the door, Héctor's eyes never left Coco's face, up until the last moment, when the door swung shut, separating father and daughter once again.

* * *

The train ride was almost as overwhelming as everything else. Apparently, the city was enormous... and very, very crowded. It made Coco's head spin and Mamá’s vague explanations only served to confuse her further.

Apparently, Miguel became cursed on the last dia de los Muertos, changing everything during the course of the night. Coco herself found herself thinking back on a hazy night of her living family in a panic and- and Miguel's tear-filled eyes pleading with her.

Imelda explained how Miguel accidently ran into Héctor, neither knowing who the other was. There was some adventure involved and by the end of the night, they had revealed what had really happened to Héctor all those years ago. He had been trying to come home when he died.

"Héctor loves you, Coco. The things you grew up hearing- they were said out of anger and hurt." Imelda stressed.

But Coco shook her head. "I don't understand. He left, mamá. You said yourself no circumstances could ever make that okay."

Imelda sighed deeply. "It's his story to tell, mija. I only hope you will find it in yourself to hear it." She hesitated. "I messed up too, Coco. The way I handled everything- I just took so much from him..."

 _Including you_ , Coco finished in her head. She wanted to remind mamá that little girls and struggling mothers weren't to blame for what wayward husbands did. And that they were better off without that _musician_ anyway, because those were the things she'd believed when she couldn't keep believing in dreams.

But somehow everything was now different.


	2. Chapter 2

Coco woke to the beautiful sound of her husband’s snores. It sent such a rush of joy she could have hugged him right there, had her mind not been weighed down by darker thoughts. Accepting her death and the land of the dead was relatively easy, it was her father’s presence that Coco had trouble wrapping her head around. Her thoughts trailed to the previous night, how excited her family had been to see her. Just being able to remember the events clearly sent Coco another jolt of energy. Feeling like she couldn’t possibly stay in bed for another second, she sneaked out of the bedroom and made her way towards the kitchen.

She hadn’t yet seen her father after that disastrous meeting, apparently everyone had deemed it best to give Coco the night to adjust. She could only pray she wouldn’t run into the man now. What could she even say if she did? She’d been four years old when he left. Trying to conjure up an image now, all Coco could see was a man who left with a guitar… and a pile of letters in a drawer - pretty words for a naïve girl.

Coco might have lived to become a great grandmother, but something about the situation made her want to throw away all reason. For one, she could just ignore Héctor until the situation resolved itself. And if it didn't? Well, it could hardly hurt her if she didn't acknowledge it…

And there is was. Coco was behaving like a child on a tantrum. She groaned with frustration, _what about this are you finding so difficult, old woman?_

Perhaps, and Coco would never admit this outside the safety of her own mind, she was afraid that if she heard her father out, she might forgive him. After all, what chance did Coco stand when even mamá had been swayed?

And then there was the more frightening alternative - that even after hearing all her father's reasons, and they must have been good ones as well, she still wouldn’t be able to forgive him. Some wounds, Coco had learned, ran too deep.

Mamá was the only one in the kitchen, nursing a steaming cup of coffee and staring at Coco with a soft smile. Coco breathed out in relief.

"One sugar, a spoon of vanilla syrup." Imelda said pushing a second cup towards Coco.

Coco grinned. "My favorite."

"I know, mija." Imelda smiled softly, the smile that was only reserved for Coco.

As Coco took the first sip of the delicious coffee, she was once again filled with the wonderful amazement at having mamá back after all those years.

"Mija," Imelda started and Coco could tell the conversation had turned serious. "What do you want to do?"

Coco frowned. "Do?"

"About Héctor." Imelda supplied. "He wants to talk to you, but if you need space..."

Coco nodded her understanding and pondered it. "Where-" She swallowed, thinking about the ridiculous amount of times she'd voiced this exact question. "where is he?"

"In his room, upstairs. He didn't want to upset you."

Coco paused, she hadn't fully expected Héctor to stay after yesterday's disaster.

"Coco, you know I wish you would hear him out," Imelda watched Coco nod. "but if you want him to go, he goes."

Coco saw the painful wince, the guilt behind a strong front. And yet she knew without a doubt mamá would kick Héctor out in an instant if she asked. Maybe then everything would go back to the way it had always been. Well, Coco would still be dead, but she wouldn't be forced to reevaluate facts she had held on to most of her life.

Coco took a long sip of her coffee, placed the cup down and stared at her fingers, flexing them because now she could. She sighed. "I don't want you to tell him to leave."

Imelda practically sagged with relief. "But?"

"I'm not ready to hear him out either."

"Okay. What should I tell him then?"

Coco thought about it, then shook her head sadly. There was nothing to say.

* * *

To Coco’s surprise, Héctor respected her wish for space. They quickly learned to navigate around each other, existing in the same orbits but never colliding. And Coco waited, she wasn't sure what she was waiting for, but she often caught herself holding her breath for it.

As a rule, none of the family brought the issue up around her. The only time was a few weeks after her passing, when she broached the subject with Julio while getting ready for bed.

When she'd been young, Coco had loved to dance. It had seemed so untainted, yet mamá always got upset. Too much association, probably. So, Coco danced in secret, and that was how she met Julio. Just like her, he had loved to go dancing in the plaza. It was an activity he officially abandoned after meeting Imelda, yet never refused to sneak out with Coco for a quick dancing session. Her partner in crime, he'd always been on her side which was why Coco trusted him to be truthful now.

"Honestly?" He sat down next to Coco. "I think he's a great, caring guy. I hate what he did to you, but knowing what I do now, I-" Julio hesitated, eyeing Coco warily.

"You what?" Coco urged.

"Well, frankly, I feel sorry for him."

Coco blinked. She hadn't been expecting that.

"I mean, the way he died," Again Julio hesitated. It was an unspoken agreement that the full story of Héctor's passing should come from Héctor himself, once Coco was ready. "And the way he spent his afterlife until now."

Coco frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He couldn't cross the bridge," Julio watched Coco nod, she knew all about how the bridge and the ofrendas worked. "But he tried anyway. Year after year."

"That's… something." Coco started, puzzled. "I didn't realize not being able to cross was such a big thing."

“He was trying to get back to _you_. That's what he was trying to do with Miguel when he first met him - have the kid put his photo on the ofrenda so that he could see you, mi amor."

"M- me?" Coco choked. It was one of those things that just didn't line up.

"I can tell that he really loves you."

Coco nodded numbly. She wasn't so sure about that, despite what all this new information was suggesting.

* * *

One week after her talk with Julio, Coco received a letter. Or more like a note, really. It was hidden under her mug when she entered the kitchen one morning. Coco carefully unfolded the small piece of paper only to see neat, painfully familiar handwriting.

The note said, 'Good morning'.

Coco studied it, baffled. It was simple and on point and couldn't possibly be interpreted as putting any pressure on Coco. She took a cautious sip from the mug and was rewarded by a wonderful flavor of tea. She could have sworn she tasted vanilla.

The next note came in the book Coco had been reading. It was a little drawing of Dante, the street dog Miguel sometimes hid under Coco's bed.

The next morning Coco found the same delicious tea with another 'Good morning' hidden under her mug, this time with a smiley face attached.

"You're in a good mood, mija." Imelda commented when she entered the kitchen.

Coco quickly checked herself and hid the note in her pocket. "Si, I suppose I am."

It became a kind of game. Coco would find sweet, yet short notes hidden between pages of books, under cushions, under a mug of tea that appeared in the kitchen every morning without fail. Frustratingly, one by one they started melting that ice around Coco's heart. Apparently, her father was a difficult man to hate.

But then Coco found herself counting on those silly notes. That night she swept the pile out of her drawer and straight into the trash can. She'd just have to ask Héctor to stop.

Coco marched to the room she knew only to avoid, a few choice words ready on the tip of her tongue. For one they couldn't keep dancing around each other, it wasn't working and could only end one way. She'd known that from the start, had she not?

Coco froze, her fist inches from the door. A slow melody was coming from the room, accompanied by soft humming. Not the-song-that-wasn't-hers, Coco was immensely grateful for that.

Coco swallowed a lump in her throat, undecided. It’d been such a long time since she heard her father sing. Slowly, she lowered her hand.

* * *

The next morning, Coco left her note and tea on the table, making her own cup of coffee instead. She stayed in the kitchen until Héctor came in, eyes wide at seeing her still there.

"Good morning." She said, cool and collected. She might as well have been greeting a stranger. Héctor winced before offering a weak smile. "Good morning. I thought you'd be in the workshop by now." He tried carefully.

Héctor had no way of knowing this, but Coco disliked making shoes almost as much as she disliked him. She'd only been spending time in the workshop because she knew Héctor wouldn't be there. "It's too beautiful a day to be making shoes." Coco answered. There, civil conversation. "I thought I'd go look around town with Julio."

Héctor seemed surprised, as well as lost. This was the first real conversation they'd shared. "That's a good idea. You should check out the plaza while you're at it."

Coco hummed in acknowledgment. "Thank you, I will."

They stared at each other. Héctor stepped closer, an expression that sent a jolt of panic rushing through her body. "See you later, Héctor." She said quickly, watching her father's entire demeanor drop. He looked so wrecked Coco almost apologized, before she remembered herself and left the room.

* * *

They started talking. Each conversation was difficult and awkwardly formal, but they could now be in the same room which made the entire house breathe easier.

Coco waited for the notes to stop, yet no matter how pointedly she ignored them they still turned up, along with the tea.

"You're punishing him." Mamá said one morning when it was just the two of them.

Coco glanced at the abandoned tea, while grounding her own coffee beans. It was a good guess, Coco chuckled remembering a little girl staring out the window and deciding to do exactly that. "I'm not, mamá." She promised now, but couldn't explain what she was doing either, as she herself didn’t really understand. "I'm sorry I'm making things so difficult."

"You're as stubborn as I am, mija." Imelda said with affection, then an afterthought - "You get that from your father as well."

Coco hated that she didn’t hate the idea.

* * *

Coco wasn't enjoying herself one bit. Over the few months she'd been in the land of the dead Héctor and her had built a fragile piece, which was much better than avoidance. That being said, the last thing she wanted to do was go on any trips with the man!

It started with a plan to visit the market on the other side of town with Victoria, Coco was still very new to the large city. But then there'd been a mix up with an order at the store and they needed all hands-on deck.

"I could go with you." Héctor had offered after a pause, his voice was painfully hesitant. "I know all the short cuts."

She should have said no. She’d opened her mouth to do exactly that, but then Victoria was staring, and Héctor got that look in his eyes - like he was handing over his whole heart and Coco was about to stomp all over it.

So, she agreed.

And here they were side by side on the train, carefully avoiding each other's eyes.

"That tower is the library,” Héctor pointed. “it's mostly filled with very old books, but occasionally we'll see some newer ones come around."

Coco nodded, appreciating Héctor's attempts at keeping up the formal interactions she’d set up. "I should visit it at some point."

Héctor shrugged. "It's just a flashy building, if you want the good stuff I know a guy in the slums. No idea how he does it.”

"Do you read a lot?" Coco could remember a huge bookcase stuffed full, but it might be something she'd made up.

"Uh... occasionally. Not like when I was alive."

"So, you did have that big collection of books? In the… blue bookcase?" Coco wondered, furrowing her brows in concentration. "They'd fall out at night."

"The shelf was crooked." Héctor said incredulously. "You remember that?"

"I… guess I do."

Héctor hesitated, trying to gauge her face. "You were worried the shelf was haunted, so we made a deal… every time a book fell out, I'd have to read it to you."

A memory, perhaps not even real surfaced in Coco’s mind. Her father's soothing voice dozing her off to sleep with grown up books she couldn't possibly have understood.

"Sometimes,” Coco’s voice was filled with awe as one image triggered another. “when I couldn't sleep, I'd sneak into the study and throw them off myself."

Héctor gaped. "You did?"

"I wanted you to read them." She murmured, lost in the memory.

Héctor's smile fell. "All you had to do was ask."

Coco met her father's sad eyes and wondered if he was thinking about more than books as well. "I didn't know that." She admitted wondering, w _ould it really have been enough?_

Somehow the trip became easier. They didn't stray into any further memories, but their conversations started flowing more naturally. As Héctor lead the way to the market he pointed out various short cuts and more interesting buildings, even going into a few misadventures associated with them. It seemed her father had a nick for trouble. Coco had spent so much time building her father up in her head, first extremely positively and then negatively, it was refreshing to get to know the real him.

In return, Coco offered a few stories of her own. Héctor's eagerness to learn anything about their living family was both amusing and heartbreaking. He held on to every detail, no matter how mundane and tried to memorize every name. For the first time, Coco began to see what Julio had meant. It stirred something long repressed in Coco's heart – a ghost of a little girl unshakable in her faith. It must have showed because for the rest of the trip her father was beaming.

Over the next couple of days Coco made an effort to go a little easier on her father. She even started drinking the tea and stopped pointedly calling him 'Héctor'.

She should have known it was too good to last.

* * *

It was the first time she went into the city alone, so when she was approached by none other than Frida Kahlo herself Coco couldn't have been more ecstatic. That was until the woman started asking about her father.

As it turned out Coco had somehow managed to remain unaware of Héctor's new celebrity status. Frida went on and on about how people couldn't wait to hear more of Héctor's music, now that they knew the truth. And Coco didn't need to hear the story to understand - after years of being a nobody her father had finally found his musical fame, the one he'd went out in search for all those years ago. There were even talks of a possible album, as Frida pointed out.

Coco swallowed the sting and smiled at Frida, promising to pass Héctor her regards. Well, that was that.

She walked home slowly, closed the door behind her and ignored Victoria with mamá. Only when she approached Hector’s door did she stop and took a breath; a week attempt at putting on a mask. Cold bitterness seemed safer than abandoned little girl. She knocked.

Héctor's smile fell as soon as he glimpsed her face. "What's wrong?"

She stepped inside the room, for the first time taking in the neatly arranged books and familiar white guitar propped in the corner. The sight sent an ache through Coco's heart.

"I talked to Frida Kahlo." She began slowly.

Héctor's eyes widened. "What did she say?"

"That you're a big musician now." Coco said numbly. "That's good, I know it's what you've wanted."

"It's not quite like that."

But it was. And Coco couldn't keep living in the waiting. _Dios_ , how could she have thought this could ever not hurt?

"I know you waited for me all this time," She had to pause to swallow the bubble of sadness threatening to burst out of her throat. “but I'm not that little girl anymore. And I never will be."

"I know that-"

She shook her head. "I did wait for you, for a long time I waited. Until I felt so empty and unwanted I couldn't possibly have waited another second."

"Coco..." Her father looked wrecked.

Coco fixed her stare on the guitar. "And that was decades ago." She paused to force the hardness she needed to come with her next words. "I will never forgive you, Héctor. Because I hate you." She breathed through Héctor's sharp, broken gasp. "You should take that guitar and go live out your musical dreams, so that everyone is happy."

"Please," Héctor reached out, but paused before his hand could make contact. "Cariña."

The old nickname startled Coco into meeting her father's eyes and she was taken aback by the amount of pain swimming in them. Didn't he understand?

Overtaken by an uncharacteristic surge of rage, Coco took one of the books form the table and threw it in Héctor's direction, missing him by an inch. "Why are you still here?" She screamed. "I hate you, I've hated you for years!" She breathed. "I don't… I don't want you anymore."

She backed out of the room, trying to take in her father's features as she did. She'd have to remember, because she'd never see him again.

* * *

After locking herself in her room and getting through the initial rush of emotion, Coco curled up in bed. And she waited. Would her family wait until morning to tell her Héctor had left?

She waited and waited, and then-

Footsteps. Silence. A knock.

There was another pause as Coco waited to hear her mamá's voice. Instead she was startled by the sound of a guitar. "No." Coco whimpered. Not this, anything but this.

"Remember me,

though I have to say goodbye."

It wasn’t her song-not-her-song-not-

"Remember me,

don't let it make you cry."

She swung her pillow at the door, making the chords stumble momentarily.

"For even if I'm far away I'll hold you in my heart,"

"I don't want to hear it!" She yelled at the door, Dios she had to make it stop.

"I'll sing a secret song to you each-"

"Stop!" She threw the covers off and was at the door faster than she'd been able to move in a long time. "Please,” She cried against the door. “ _just stop_."

He did. "Then tell me what I can do. _I love you_ Coco."

Coco pressed her forehead against the cool wood, shaking her head silently. "Why won't you just leave?"

A pause. "Is that what you want?"

"I-" She stuttered. "It doesn't matter what I want."

"That's _all_ that matters."

The words made her laugh bitterly. "It didn't then."

"It- I wasn’t-" Héctor stumbled. "I'm _sorry_."

"You can play music for the world now, like you always wanted. Don't stick around now just to leave when you realize it." Mamá wouldn't handle it again.

There was another stretch of silence. Coco was about to open the door when she heard Héctor's sharp intake of breath. "I'll smash the guitar."

Coco blinked. "What?"

"And I won't play music again. I went years without it, I certainly don't need it now."

"Héctor-"

"You can hate me, but then you’ll know I won't disappear on you again." Quick footsteps receded form the door.

"Wait." Coco fumbled with the lock. Heart racing, she threw the door open and ran after her father.

When she burst into Héctor's room, he was holding the guitar over his head.

"Wait, don't!" She screamed, making Héctor freeze.

"Why?" He asked bewildered. "It's just a guitar."

Coco stared at the instrument. It was an early childhood she could only grasp, a happy home. Miguel giving Coco back something the world had ripped away. "Because. It's _your guitar_."

"Coco, all I wanted since I left home was to come back to you and Imelda. I love you more than anything. _More_ _than music_." He searched Coco's eyes, then nodded, seemingly having come to a decision.

Coco watched in horror as her father’s grip tightened on the old skull guitar.

She panicked. "Remember me, thought I have to travel far..." Her voice cracked in all the wrong places, but Coco felt the beginnings of warmth in her chest, as if her heart wasn't sure it was safe to leap yet, but it was testing the waters. "Remember me,"

Héctor's eyes were wide and his mouth opened in shock, but slowly he lowered the guitar and his fingers jumped to the correct chords.

"each time you hear a sad guitar." Coco continued, her voice now accompanied by the soft music.

Héctor stepped closer, his voice tentatively joining his daughter's. "Know that I'm with you the only way that I can be. Until you're in my arms again… Remember… me."

They breathed in the silence.

"Is it my song again?" Coco asked.

Héctor sucked in a breath, before setting the guitar on the ground and reaching for Coco's bony cheeks in one quick movement. "It’s always been your song, mija." He promised.

Her song. She smiled.

Héctor began reaching for Coco's shoulders, deliberately slow. And this time she let him. When she melted into her father's arms Coco finally, finally stopped waiting. Her papá had come home.

* * *

They settled in the garden, watching the stars while papá finally told Coco his story.

By the end of the tale, Coco realized she'd been right about one thing at least - those were good reasons. She also felt a quick surge of anger for Ernesto De La Cruz, the man who had caused her family so much pain.

But she breathed in and let it go. There'd been too much anger to go around already and this wasn't about De La Cruz, but about her papá. "I'm so sorry this happened to you." She said.

"No, _I'm_ sorry, Coco." Héctor countered. "I never should have left in the first place. I'm so sorry."

Coco took her papá's hand. "You're here now." Suddenly she frowned. "I don't- I never hated you, even when I was so angry I could have screamed. And those things I said, I only said them because…" She trailed off, unsure how to explain without hurting her papá more than she already had.

"You were afraid I'd leave again?" Héctor offered sadly.

Coco nodded. "Sí. But more than that. I've always wondered, you know? Like all kids do. And I thought- well, that you'd left because you hadn't wanted a child."

Héctor's eyes widened with horror. "I never, not once thought that. Coco, I loved you from the moment I first saw you- before that even."

Coco tried to soak in the words, but her head was still racing. "I just thought I needed to remind you I was a burden. You didn't seem to remember."

Héctor was shaking his head, and then puling Coco back into his arms. "Not a day has passed that I haven't thought about you. I swear to you, I will never leave again."

"I know.” Coco closed her eyes. “I love you too, papá."


End file.
